A Fair Trade
by kittytrypsin
Summary: After answering a distress call to aid a stricken cargo vessel, things just go from bad to worse. With the enemy close by, can the rescue be pulled off? Story now complete.
1. Default Chapter

A FAIR TRADE

Disclaimer # 1              Paramount owns the characters from 'Enterprise', I'm just 

                                    borrowing them. But if they don't look after them…

Disclaimer # 2              No financial gain is being made from these stories,   

                                    unfortunately.

Archive                        Gladly, just let me know where, please.

A/N#1                         _'italics' _in inverted commas_ = peoples' thoughts_

A/N#2                         I'm from the UK, and so is my spelling.

Characters                    Everyone

CHAPTER ONE

"Commander Tucker, your attempts to break my concentration are both transparent and childish."

Trip Tucker sat back in his seat and gazed at the speaker, Sub-Commander T'Pol of Vulcan, Science Officer and currently second-in-command of Enterprise.

"What did I do?" he asked, his face a picture of bemused innocence.

"You refuse to sit still, you constantly sigh, and when I go to make a move, you make noises to suggest that you disapprove."

"I do all that? I'd no idea, T'Pol, honestly. I'm sorry, guess I'll just sit here an' look at ya instead."

"Why don't you stare at one of the other participants, Commander? Perhaps you can distract them."

"I hope you're not implyin' that I'm tryin' to cheat? 'Cause Tuckers don't need to cheat. We've been whuppin' asses at this game for generations."

T'Pol chose to ignore his colourful expression. "Indeed, I'm intrigued to know how you managed to win our first match. What strategy did you use?"

Trip gave her a mega-watt grin. "My Granddaddy, Charles Tucker the First, taught me to play chess when it was still played on a paste board, none of this fancy three-level stuff we've got here. Chess is all about logic an' mathematics."

T'Pol's look of scepticism was thinly disguised; the commander was definitely the most illogical human she'd ever encountered. His moods ranged from being a total charmer to furiously angry and vitriolic, sometimes seamlessly, and although he was mostly the former, she knew that even in Engineering, his crew gave him a wide berth when his mood was foul.

Almost as if he knew what she was thinking, Trip continued.

"Ok, so I'll admit I'm no great shakes in logical thought, but in my line of work ya gotta be good at mathematics. In engineering if ya get your equations wrong, things tend to go 'kaboom'."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose at the unusual word. Trip filled her in.

"'Kaboom', ya know…'loud bang' equals Malcolm deliriously happy. So anyway, I use mathematics to play chess. You figured me for a sap in our first game and underestimated me, so I whupped your ass. In the second game, I wasn't concentratin', still relishin' my victory I guess, an' ya beat me."

"I believe I 'whupped your ass' Commander."

Trip grinned in appreciation of her choice of words. "Ok, so now we're in the play-off, an' I'm **not** usin' gamesmanship, but if you could just make your move some time in the next week…it's been 20 minutes already."

"There is no limit to the amount of time one is allowed before making a move. Are you in a hurry to be somewhere else, Commander?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, my shift begins in…aw heck, the time's up. I gotta go, T'Pol, we'll have to finish this another time. Hey, Cap'n, great idea, this chess tournament."

Jonathan Archer looked up from the table he was sitting at, where he'd been deeply engrossed in his match against Dr Phlox. He fired a grin at Trip as the engineer left to start his shift.

Yes, this had definitely been one of his better ideas for crew morale, and he was especially pleased that T'Pol had agreed to participate. She rarely joined the crew in any extra-curricular activities, preferring to remain apart to read or meditate. This, at least, was helping to integrate the crew. The sound of the intercom interrupted his thoughts.

"Reed to Captain Archer."

Jon crossed to the wall and pushed the button.

"Go ahead, Malcolm."

"Captain, we're receiving a distress call from a vessel on the outer limits of our scanners. Should I respond?"

"Hold on, Malcolm, I'm coming up to the bridge. Find out everything you can about the ship. Archer out."

He turned to his chess opponent. "Sorry Doc, duty calls. Is it ok if we leave the games here in sickbay?"

"I see no problem with that, Captain, unless you anticipate a sudden influx of patients."

"Until we know what this distress call's about, I can't say for certain. Move them out of the way if necessary. Sub-commander, I'll be on the bridge."

^*^*^*^*^*^

The visual link with the Dyland, a transport ship on its way to a penal colony, was grainy and full of static. The audio link wasn't much better.

"Hoshi, can you clean that up anymore?"

"Sorry, Captain, that's as good as it's going to be." Hoshi Sato, communications and Linguistics officer shook her head. Jon nodded before turning back to the main view screen.

"Captain, we're having difficulty picking up your transmission. Can you repeat, how can we help?"

"Explosions on bo…several deaths of crew…systems failing…can't last much lon…"

"We'll be with you in twenty minutes. Is your docking port damaged?"

"Think its ok…please hurry."

Jon turned to address his young bridge crew. "Ok people, let's make the best time to the rendezvous point. Malcolm, have a security detail ready at the docking port, we don't know anything about their passengers, and we can't afford to take any chances. Archer to sickbay."

"Go ahead, Captain."

"Doctor, we'll be picking up survivors from an explosion in about twenty minutes. I'm sure you and your people will be ready."

"Quite so, Captain. Do you have any idea of the number of survivors?"

"No, and their ship's falling apart, fast, so I'm just hoping that there will actually be survivors to rescue. Archer out."

He thumbed the intercom again. "Archer to Engineering."

"Tucker here, Cap'n."

"Trip, I want you on the bridge. We're going to be docking with a damaged vessel sometime in the next twenty minutes. I don't want any nasty surprises, so I want detailed engineering scans of the alien ship before I put Enterprise at risk."

"On my way, Cap'n, with ya in five."

Jon sat back to admire the finely tuned machine that was the Enterprise crew, efficiently carrying out the assigned tasks with only a frisson of excitement at the opportunity for a new first contact. There were no histrionics, no doubts about whom these people might be; the first priority was to execute a rescue.

The turbo-lift delivered Trip onto the bridge and he quietly relieved the crewman at the engineering station.

"What d'we know about the ship, Cap'n?"

"Not much. From what we can work out, it's a Zenalese transporter taking prisoners to a colony. We sent a message to Zena, telling them of the accident, and requesting identification of the crew and prisoners, but so far, we've had no reply. Their Captain said they'd had an on-board explosion with some casualties, and their orbit was starting to decay. Are you getting anything on scan?"

Trip had been looking into his viewer during Jon's speech and nodded as he looked up.

"Their orbit's definitely decayin', and fast. It mightn't hold out. I'll bring the grapplers online, but if we can't grab her, we might have to use the transporter to get them off."

"Ok, do what you can. Travis, increase to Warp 5; let's see if we can get there in time."

"Aye, sir, Warp 5." Travis Mayweather, ship's helmsman and baby boomer, hated to see any vessel nearing the end of its life. But he knew the captain and Commander Tucker would do everything they could to save not only the people on board the Dyland, but also the ship itself.


	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

They had made up some time by increasing their speed, but in the end, it wasn't enough to save the ship. The rescue mission shifted to the transporter room where Trip and T'Pol were at the controls, with Malcolm and a heavily armed security detail as company.

Each time they locked onto biosigns, the figures re-materialised on the transporter pad, looking around at their new surroundings with obvious relief. Over the next five minutes they transported eight people safely. Trip constantly scanned the Dyland for more life signs. T'Pol turned to speak to one of the men newly arrived.

"Where is your Captain?"

"He told us to get off first, said he'd keep an eye on the prisoners and he'd be the last to leave. He wanted to try to save the ship."

Trip was working frantically at the controls. "We're losin' her, T'Pol. I've got one more group comin' over, but I think this is gonna be our last."

As he spoke, two figures sparkled into existence, locked together like dancers. As soon as they'd re-materialised, one of the men gasped and fell to the floor. T'Pol stooped to examine him and felt for a pulse.

"This man is dead."

Trip looked up from the transporter controls and spoke quietly and grimly. "So's anybody else that was still on board. The gravitational pull's too strong, the Dyland's breakin' up an' I can't get a lock on anybody else. May God have mercy on their souls."

T'Pol moved to the intercom. "Captain, we were able to transport ten people before the ship broke up. There was unfortunately one fatality here."

"Ok, T'Pol, I'm sure you both did everything you could. Let me speak with Captain Quin."

"Unfortunately, it would appear that Captain Quin was the fatality."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Enterprise's guests had been given hot meals whilst sleeping arrangements were being sorted out. Captain Quin's body had been transferred to sickbay, where Jon was now talking to Phlox, hoping for some answers before meeting his passengers.

"Can you tell me the cause of death, Doctor?"

"At this early stage I can safely say that he did not die from and of the many blows to his body, but as to how he got them, or from whom he received them, I'm at a loss. Have you received any identification from Zena, yet?"

Jon shook his head, tired and more than a little concerned. "I haven't even received confirmation that they received our message. Maybe there's some sort of sub-space distortion and the message is still trying to get through. Either way, I don't know exactly whom we have on board, but I'm on my way to the mess hall now. Maybe they can tell me who's who. Malcolm's watching over them, so for now, they're not going anywhere, but if they're innocent crewmen, I can't keep them under lock and key."

"Agreed, and I don't think our brig was ever designed for nine people at one time. Good luck with your questioning, Captain. I will continue to examine the unfortunate Captain Quin to see if he can shed any light on his passing."

The nine survivors sat quietly at tables, ignoring Malcolm and his security team. Neither side made any attempt to engage in small talk, and Malcolm stepped aside when Jon entered.

"I'm Captain Archer. Welcome to Enterprise, gentlemen. I'm sorry about your captain. My Chief Medical Officer will be carrying out a full autopsy to determine his cause of death, but on first inspection it looks like he was in a fight. Can anybody fill me in?"

A tall figure stepped forward, the same man who'd transported over with Quin.

"I'm Goff,  Quin's First Officer, Captain. We can't thank you enough for your intervention. As for Captain Quin, he almost single-handedly held off the prisoners' revolt during the last few moments. I had to grab him to get him out of there before it was too late. I knew he was hurt, but I didn't know how badly."

Jon looked at the nine ragged men in front of him, needing answers.

"So, of the nine of you, how many are prisoners?"

Goff seemed to be the elected spokesman. "We're not proud of our actions, Captain, but self-preservation is a powerful thing…none of our prisoners got off the ship.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Phlox was a meticulous medical examiner, and when he told the captain that he'd get answers from the dead man on the table in front of him, that's what he intended.

So far, he'd discovered multiple bruises and abrasions, all of which would have been painful, but not life threatening. This puzzled him, but like chess, the good doctor enjoyed solving puzzles. He ran his scanner over the alien captain's body, humming tunelessly to himself as he took the readings. One finding in particular caused his brow to wrinkle as he repeated the scan.

So intent was his concentration that he didn't hear the intruder behind him, and he slipped into unconsciousness as the butt of a pistol crashed painfully onto his unprotected skull.

The intruder removed the padd from Phlox's nerveless fingers, and erased all of the data that the doctor had recorded. He then turned his attention to the corpse on the table. Turning the setting on his weapon up to maximum, the intruder fired at Quin's body, and after several minutes, the remains were so severely charred as to be totally unidentifiable.

As quietly as he had entered, the intruder stepped over the fallen body of Enterprise's doctor, and slipped back out of sickbay.

TBC


	3. chapter three

A/N     I'm trying very hard to flesh out my stories a wee bit more, so please bear with me: I promise action soon.

CHAPTER THREE

Jon felt uneasy as he thought over Goff's story. He supposed it could be entirely plausible that none of the prisoners got off, alive, and maybe, if the survivors were ashamed to say, they might even have physically hampered the others' attempts to escape. But the cold hard facts were that if any prisoners had still been alive, Trip's sensors would have detected them, and surely the odds had to be favourable for at least one being transported.

On the other hand, there could be a perfectly good reason for the only survivors being crew. He wondered how he would react under similar circumstances if he, too, were ferrying dangerous prisoners and time was against everyone being rescued. Morally, he knew he shouldn't place one life higher in value than another, but in the face of certain death, he had to ask himself, would he have reacted any differently? He liked to think that he would at least try to get everyone off, but he knew there was no way he'd put the lives of prisoners before any of his crew. After all, they were his family.

As a precaution, he had decided to split the survivors into smaller groups, easier to keep an eye on, and less likely to start any trouble. It was still going to be a tight squeeze. Most quarters on board ship were spartan and compact, the exceptions being the Officers' quarters. As all of their guests were male, none of them could move in with female crewmembers, so a little doubling-up amongst the crew was going to be necessary. Malcolm had been given the task of seeing their passengers to their new quarters.

"But Captain, the Sub-Commander won't want me sharing with her. She needs space to meditate, and I'd only be in her way." The anguished face of the linguistics officer was silently pleading for another solution.

"Hoshi, this isn't ideal for any of us, but it'll only be for a few days. You survived the catwalk; this should be a piece of cake. And it's only until we reach Zena. Besides, T'Pol has already agreed."

"She has?"

Jon gave her a huge grin, attempting to ease her anxiety. "Yeah, well, I told her it was either you or Commander Tucker."

In spite of her discomfort at the situation, Hoshi couldn't contain her laughter. She could just picture T'Pol's eyebrow going through the roof at the very thought of 'bunking' with the commander.

"Ok, Captain. I'll try to stay out of her hair. Maybe we should work opposite to each other."

"Whatever, sort it out between yourselves. I'm putting two survivors in your room, one each with Travis, Malcolm and Trip, and the other four are bunking in the brig. I don't suppose anyone's going to be too comfortable, but at least they're alive."

Hoshi nodded and left to gather some personal items from her room. She tried not to feel animosity towards their passengers, these nine men who'd invaded her 'family environment'. That thought startled her, momentarily, as she suddenly realised just how comfortable she now felt amongst the crew; they had indeed become her second family. But she couldn't help having a feeling of foreboding that made her shiver. 

Feeling a headache developing, she decided to make a call to sickbay before going to her quarters. As she entered, the acrid smell of burnt flesh caught her throat and made her gag. Clutching a hand to her mouth and nose, she looked around for the source, and when she discovered it, her eyes seemed like those of a startled rabbit caught in headlights. She staggered to the intercom.

"Captain…sir, come to sickbay…it's awful…" she managed to stammer, before her legs gave way and she collapsed in a dead faint.

^*^*^*^*^*^

When the room stopped spinning, Hoshi cautiously opened her eyes to discover that she was on a biobed. That meant that she was in sickbay and her last awareness in this room had been decidedly unpleasant. She looked around apprehensively for the 'thing' that had once been a person. Someone had discreetly covered it with a sheet, but Hoshi's travelling gaze stopped as she noticed another occupied biobed.

Doctor Phlox lay, pale and bleeding from a scalp wound, being attended by Elizabeth Cutler.

"Is he ok?" she whispered, her head too sore to speak any louder. She felt a hand gently touching her shoulder and turned towards it to see the captain looking down at her with concerned eyes.

"Hoshi, how are you feeling?"

"I-I'm ok, Captain, just a bit of a headache. I'm sorry for fainting, for being so weak, but when I saw that…I'm sorry."

"Hey, that's ok; I nearly lost my lunch when I saw it, too. And Phlox is going to be fine. Lucky for him that Denobulans have an extra-thick skull. If he'd been human, the blow may well have killed him."

"Who was it?"

"Who do you mean, the attacker, or…?"

Hoshi nodded, pointing a trembling finger at the shrouded remains.

"I have to assume it was the late, departed Captain Quin, everyone else is accounted for. As to why anyone went to the trouble to cremate him, I've no idea. I'd just finished allocating guest quarters when your call came through. Malcolm's rounding everybody up so that I can question them, but for a while they were being treated as guests, which meant that they were free to roam in all but the restricted areas of the ship. I've a feeling they'll only tell me what they want me to know."

As he finished speaking, a dramatically loud moan from Phlox announced his return to consciousness.

"Now I can empathise with my patients when they awaken here with headaches."

Jon crossed to his side. "Take it easy, Doc. Somebody tried to alter the shape of your skull."

Phlox had been gently exploring the back of his head and his fingers came away sticky with blood. Elizabeth Cutler gently rolled him onto his side, bathed the wound and sealed it expertly, as she'd seen him do on many occasions. Phlox lay patiently as she ministered to him with a hypospray, and then gingerly eased off the bed.

"Thank you, Ensign, that was most proficient. I'll be fine, Captain, but I'm curious as to why I was attacked."

"I don't for one minute think that it was a crewmember that attacked you, so that only leaves our passengers. And that would indicate that there was something they didn't want you to discover in your examination of Quin's remains. I'm assuming that the last time you saw him, the captain hadn't been bar-be-cued?"

Phlox's eyebrows soared as he understood Captain Archer's words. He padded over to the covered body and raised the sheet.

"Dear, dear me, someone went to a great deal of trouble to hide the evidence."

"Evidence of what, Doctor?" Jon asked, intrigued at what Phlox had found.

"Just before my assailant struck, I discovered something very interesting. It had escaped me when I'd examined the captain the first time, because a large bruise covered it. When I used the scanner, however, it was as clear as daylight."

"Doctor, you're talking in riddles. What was as clear as daylight?" Jon sounded exasperated.

"A fine puncture wound, straight to the heart. Captain Quin was murdered, by persons unknown, but possibly by one of the nine men we've taken on board."

TBC


	4. chapter four

A/N        I apologise for any discrepancies regarding the layout of Enterprise. My idea 

               of what is on each deck is entirely my own imagination.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jon and Phlox were in the captain's ready room, impatiently waiting for Malcolm to arrive with the survivors. It had been some time since Jon had dispatched his tactical officer to locate Goff and his crew, and so far they hadn't reported back. Anxious for news, Jon crossed to the intercom.

"Archer to Lt. Reed…please respond."

The ensuing silence unnerved the captain as he realised that something, or someone, must be preventing Malcolm from answering the hail. The normally 'by the book' Armoury Officer would have been reaching for the intercom button even as Jon was speaking, if he had been able.

"Computer, locate Lt. Reed."

The computerised voice replied abruptly and dispassionately, "Lt. Reed is on C deck, section 2."

Jon looked at Phlox, perplexed. "That's near the transporter room. If Malcolm had met with Goff and the others, why would they be going anywhere near the transporter room? It's not as if we're near a planet to transport to. Come on, Doctor, I've a feeling we're going to need your expertise."

They lost no time in making their way to C deck. Very little traffic frequented section 2 except during transportations, and the two men encountered no one as they made their way along. When they reached their destination, Jon stopped in confusion. There was no sign of Malcolm, or anyone else for that matter.

The two men began to search the area for clues as to the missing men's whereabouts.

"Captain, I believe this may be of some significance," Phlox called, drawing Jon's attention to the door controls of a storeroom.

The access panel had been warped by a heat source, and wasn't going to operate for anyone anyway soon.

"If Malcolm's in there, his head might have received the same treatment that yours got. We'll have to get in with a laser." Jon crossed to the intercom.

"Archer to Engineering."

"Hess, Captain, go ahead."

"Lieutenant, where's Commander Tucker?"

"He's not rostered for this shift, Captain. I believe he was showing some of our guests around the ship. Most of them were here half an hour ago. Do you want me to hail the Commander?"

"No, I'll do that myself. Send a team along to C deck, section 2 and have them bring a laser. Dr Phlox will meet them and explain. Archer out."

He pushed the button again and addressed the computer. "Locate Commander Tucker."

"Commander Tucker is in shuttle bay two."

Jon pushed the button yet again. "Archer to Commander Tucker, respond please."

After what seemed to Jon to be a lifetime, Trip's voice replied, sounding perfectly normal and unharmed.

"Tucker here, Cap'n. What can I do for ya?"

"Trip, report to my ready room, something's come up. Bring your guests with you."

"Sure thing, Cap'n, just give me a few minutes to get there."

Jon breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Trip's reassuring voice. 

If he'd been with his best friend in the shuttle bay, he wouldn't have been nearly as reassured. Goff had Trip's arm twisted viciously up behind his back in a painful lock, and a pistol was rammed into his temple. On the floor at their feet lay one of Malcolm's security men, unconscious and bleeding from a nasty head wound.

"Well done, Commander, we don't want the captain barging in here, now do we? You saw what happened to Lt Reed and his team when they tried to detain us, so I'll ask you once more, nicely, to pilot the shuttle and take us where I tell you."

"An' if I don't… what, you'll kill me?"

"Not immediately, I have another plan for you, but you will be entirely responsible for me killing the man on the floor. A career cut short in its prime, and you could have avoided it. So, what's it to be?"

Trip reflected briefly on his ill fortune. He'd been giving their guests a lightening tour of the ship and had just left Engineering when they'd bumped into Malcolm and his team on C deck. Malcolm had been his usual, polite self, respectfully requesting that their visitors accompany him to see the captain, when all hell had broken loose. The survivors had produced weapons from the pockets of their clothing (_'an' I'm SO gonna ask Malcolm why they weren't searched more thoroughly)_, and in the ensuing shoot-out, Malcolm and his three crewmen had been easily overcome. Trip had tried to intervene by pushing Goff's pistol off target, but a clip behind his ear had left him dazed and on his knees, unable to take any further part in proceedings.

When his head had cleared, he'd seen Malcolm and two crewmen being tossed into a storeroom, but at least they were alive, whilst he and the other crewman were dragged towards the shuttle bay. He brought his thoughts back to the present.

"Where exactly are ya headin'? Last time I checked, the cap'n said we were several days from Zena."

"That's right, but unfortunately for you, we have no intention of allowing ourselves to be taken back. If we do, we'll be executed."

"So, I'm guessin' that you're not the original crew of the Dyland, after all. An' Captain Quin…was he in on your prison break out?"

"You don't need to concern yourself about him, he's no longer part of the equation. Now, no more time-wasting, you've three seconds to step into the pilot's seat, Commander, or I'll kill this man and take my chances at flying the craft, myself."

Trip recognised the sound of determination in the other man's voice and nodded helplessly. He bent down and dragged Ensign Barr into the shuttle, then moved to take the controls. The Zenalese struggled to find enough room to sit around the cramped pod, except for Goff who commandeered the co-pilot's seat, his gun trained on Trip.

"Ok, a nice quiet launch, no chatter with the bridge. Just get us off Enterprise, and then I'll give you your heading."

"They're gonna know we're launchin', and hail us."

"That's ok, until they do, we'll put as much space between us and them as possible." 

Goff prodded Trip's shoulder none too gently with his weapon. Resignedly, the commander started the pod's engine and operated the remote to open the launch bay doors. Their exit from the belly of the ship was clean and swift, turning instantly in the opposite direction, so far undetected.

TBC


	5. chapter five

A/N     Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review. Sorry this is another relatively quiet chapter, but I promise action VERY soon.

CHAPTER FIVE

T'Pol sat in the command chair, unaware of events unfolding in space. Her thoughts were peppered with slight frustration at the idea of having to share her quarters with another. Admittedly, Ensign Sato was perfectly presentable; a quiet, fragrant human as far as any human could be described as fragrant. But when she was nervous, Sato was prone to chatter incessantly. T'Pol put a cool hand to her forehead, feeling a headache developing.

Her thoughts went back to the conversation she'd had with the captain, regarding their guests and the sleeping arrangements. She didn't believe he'd been serious when he'd threatened to move Commander Tucker into her quarters. In fact, she'd almost called his bluff, but if she'd been wrong…

Sighing inwardly, she looked around the bridge at the junior crew who were currently on duty. If she hadn't been distracted, she'd have been more alert to the possibility of things going wrong, but she wasn't to know. On the edge of her peripheral vision, she saw a red light flashing. Rising gracefully to her feet, she crossed the gap between chair and console with deceptive speed.

"Ensign, why have you not reported an unauthorised shuttle launch?"

Ensign York looked up guiltily into the forbidding face of his First Officer.

"I-I'm sorry, Sub-Commander, I didn't notice it," he stammered.

T'Pol swung away to regard Ensign Dale, manning the hot seat at communications. Dale felt the Vulcan's eyes boring into her and she instinctively opened a hail to the shuttlecraft.

"Enterprise to Shuttlepod One, please respond."

Silence hung heavily as the entire bridge crew strained to hear a reply. T'Pol repeated the hail from the command chair, and again it was ignored.

"Bridge to Captain Archer, respond please."

Jon was in the turbolift, heading for the bridge, and answered directly as he stepped out.

"What's up, T'Pol?"

She swung to address him. "There has been an unauthorised shuttle launch and we are not getting a response to our hails. We have picked up their impulse signature and I've adjusted to an intercept course. I will operate the grappler."

Jon nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Computer, locate Commander Tucker," he asked, for the second time in half an hour.

"Commander Tucker is not on board." The startled looks on the faces of the bridge crew met his own as Jon saw them watching his reaction.

That confirmed his fears. T'Pol's eyebrow rose, the question in her mind not really needing to be expressed. Jon took a deep breath before bringing his second-in-command up to speed.

"It would seem we were duped by our guests. Captain Quin's body was destroyed in an attempt to hide the fact that he was murdered; Phlox was viciously attacked, and now it would appear that our erstwhile passengers have forced Commander Tucker to fly them out in a shuttlepod. Oh…and Lt Reed's locked inside a storage room!"

T'Pol's eyebrow rose even higher as she listened to the captain's impassioned catalogue of disasters. All of a sudden her earlier annoyance at having her personal space invaded seemed trivial. Indeed, the thought of having to share quarters with Commander Tucker was preferable to knowing that he was in the clutches of ruthless murderers.

Her fingers flew over the controls of the grappler, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"Captain, the grappler is not responding."

Jon swore under his breath. This day was just going from bad to worse.

"Engineering, respond," he barked.

"Hess, Captain."

"Lieutenant, why is the grappler offline?"

"One moment, Captain, while I check."

Jon tried to wait patiently, all the while wondering what was happening on board the shuttle. Hess's voice brought him back.

"The programme's been contaminated, Captain. I don't know how or why it's happened, or even when, for that matter, but I'll get right on it. It'll take some time, though."

"Ok, Lieutenant, just let me know when it's fixed."

Jon wouldn't accept that this was a co-incidence. He could picture the scene in Engineering: Trip lovingly extolling the virtues of their Warp 5 engines, his attention all too easily pre-occupied. It would have taken someone with technical know-how to insert a glitch in the computer programme for the grappler, but it wasn't impossible that one or more of the prisoners had had that knowledge. A chill ran through him as he wondered what else might have been sabotaged.

"Ok, what about the transporter? Can we use it?" he asked.

T'Pol rose and headed for the turbolift, a look of determination on her face.

"I will attempt to retrieve Commander Tucker, Captain. However, we may have little option but to follow them to their destination and attempt a ground rescue."

"Yeah, let's just hope they're heading for a planet, and not another ship."

He didn't voice his other fear, that if Trip had been taken simply to pilot the 'pod, once they landed, he would be only so much excess baggage.

He sat in his chair, chewing on his nails as the minutes ticked by. Phlox reported in to say that Lt Reed and his crewmen were in sickbay, stunned and mildly concussed, but otherwise all right. That was the first thing in their favour in the entire sorry day.

Eventually, T'Pol reported from the transporter. "Our saboteur has been at work here, too, Captain. It will be some time before it is safe to use the transporter. I will remain here to effect the repairs, myself."

^*^*^*^*^*^

At the helm of Shuttlepod One, Trip could clearly hear the two hails from Enterprise. Instinctively, he reached forward to answer, but gasped in pain as his knuckles were rapped sharply by Goff's pistol. Drawing his stinging hand to his mouth, he sucked his sore fingers in an attempt to soothe them. Goff brought the pistol up and rammed it viciously into Trip's temple.

"Now that wasn't very smart, Commander, was it? If I'd wanted to talk to your crewmates, I'd have answered, myself. If you want to get out of this alive, you'll have to learn to play the game by my rules."

Goff removed the pistol from the engineer's head and addressed the other occupants of the shuttle.

"Our original plan still stands. We'll be at Kendal Prime in half an hour, and even though Enterprise can keep level with us, there's no way they'll get their systems working again in time to do anything."

Trip listened, perplexed. "What d'ya mean about their systems? What've ya done to the ship?"

"Just one or two malfunctions, Commander. Did you think that rescue was just around the corner? Did you think we wouldn't know about grapplers and transporters? A few glitches in the programmes were so easy to create, and so effective. You're stuck with us for the time being, so relax and enjoy the ride, fly-boy."

Trip felt a chill wrap around his heart at Goff's words. He knew Enterprise wouldn't have had any difficulty in following them, but he'd hoped for rescue by now, and hadn't understood why it hadn't happened.  Now it made sense. Behind him, he could hear Ensign Barr beginning to come round, mumbling incoherently, and he felt concern for the man's head injury as well as for himself. But there wasn't anything he could do for him until they landed.

TBC


	6. chapter six

CHAPTER SIX

"Captain, there's an M–class planet on our sensors. It appears from the shuttlepod's present course, that this might be their goal." Hoshi was looking into the scanner at the science station, whilst T'Pol was working on repairs in the Transporter room.

Jon looked at his young linguistics officer in sympathy. She still looked like death warmed up, her face unhealthily pale and her dark eyes slightly haunted by what she'd seen in sickbay. It would be some time before Hoshi enjoyed a barbecue again. But as soon as she'd heard what had happened, she'd insisted on coming back on duty. Jon knew their Chief Engineer was very popular, as well as being highly respected, and the crew were understandably concerned for his and Barr's safety.

"Ok, Travis, bring us into orbit, and then we can take the other shuttle down and look for them. Hoshi, keep scanning for our peoples' biosigns. We don't want to lose them when we're this close."

Malcolm appeared onto the bridge, a livid bruise visible on his forehead and his face unnaturally pale.

"Reporting for duty, Captain."

"Malcolm, are you sure you're fit to be out of sickbay?"

Malcolm nodded, carefully, and pointed to Tactical.

"Permission to resume my post, Captain?"

Jon merely nodded, silently thanking the stiff-upper-lipped Englishman for his quiet strength.

"We've got here before the shuttle has landed, which is hardly surprising, but with rescue measures still off line, I can't do anything until they do land. Hoshi, have you got them?"

"They've just entered the planet's atmosphere, Captain. There's a lot of turbulence and static… I'm losing the signal due to an ion storm raging over the planet at 100Km. I imagine they're in for a bumpy ride."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Trip might have laughed at Hoshi's choice of words if he hadn't had his hands full stopping them all from being killed. The pod was like something demon-possessed, bucking and leaping under his hands, yawing from side to side. Most of the occupants were being tossed around like rag dolls, crashing into the walls with sickening thuds, but Trip saved his sympathy for Barr, still lying on the floor, barely conscious. He was rolling back and forwards on the pitching deck, striking against the legs of furniture and people alike, unable to stop himself.

Trip's teeth were clenched so hard his jaw was beginning to hurt. This reminded him of the bucking bronco rides he'd seen in old movies, and although he'd never sat on one, he felt he knew what it would have been like.

The ion storm had rendered their sensors useless, and he was effectively flying blind, hurtling towards the planet with no means of telling what was out there.

With a sickening, stomach-churning lurch, the shuttle began to drop like a stone.

"Hang on to whatever you can, we've just lost the helm. This is gonna hurt!" he yelled, as the shuttle plummeted.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Jon was organising the rescue mission, and Malcolm wanted, fiercely, to be on it.

"Captain, I really am quite all right. Doctor Phlox was happy for me to resume my duties, and those duties **are** as Chief Security Officer. Your place is here, co-ordinating and supervising, supporting your crew. They need a strong lead right now."

Jon looked at his wise tactical officer, resignedly. The man's argument was entirely logical. T'Pol was having a bad influence on his crew. Even Trip could sometimes come up with logical arguments, these days.

_'Trip!'_

Instinct and fear for his friend made him want to lead the away team, but he knew he couldn't go off, throwing himself into every rescue situation. He would have to let his officers take control, instead. His thoughts were interrupted by the intercom.

"Mayweather to Captain Archer."

He hit the button on the command chair.

"Archer, go ahead, Travis."

"Sir, you need to come down to the shuttle bay."

Jon heard the unusual note in the helmsman's voice, and instinctively knew they'd found more work of the saboteur.

A few minutes later, as he and Malcolm joined Travis inside Shuttlepod One, his fears were confirmed. Travis grimaced.

"I was running a pre-flight check, sir, and something just didn't feel right, so I ran a diagnostic. Somebody's tampered with the programmes here, too. The thrusters are off-line. We'd have launched without any indication of trouble, but once we'd tried to land, we'd have been without brakes. The shuttle would have hit the ground with full G force. I don't know if we'd have survived the drop."

"Murderous bas…" Malcolm began, but Jon cut him off with a tired wave of the hand.

"Ok, Malcolm, it's not unfixable, it's just going to delay things. Everything they've done so far has been to delay us, giving them time to put more ground between them and us. So, instead of blowing a gasket, let's get this repaired."

He crossed to the intercom. "How are your repairs coming along, T'Pol?"

"Completed, Captain, but due to the ion storm, the transporter would be ineffective. Are you preparing to launch the second shuttle?"

"No, we've discovered another repair job, here in the shuttle bay. I'll be on the bridge."

T'Pol's eyebrow was getting plenty of exercise today. This was certainly proving to be a most trying first contact. She closed the access panel on the transporter console, and made her way to the shuttle bay.

It had been two hours since the prisoners had effected their escape, two hours during which the Enterprise crew had worked to overcome all of the acts of sabotage those same prisoners had left behind. Two hours during which they had all feared for their missing crew.

She thought to remind the captain to restrict access to all sensitive areas for future guests on board ship. These humans were much too trusting for their own good.

TBC


	7. a fair trade chapter seven

A/N     I apologise for my simple attempts at techno-speak…I really haven't a clue whether it's right or not. I should just stick to writing adventures. Anyway, a bit more of Trip in this chapter, and lots to come.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Darkness had settled over the downed craft, that, and driving rain which swept in through the broken front viewing port. Trip had been thrown violently across the helm's controls as he lost his fight to keep the pod up. Just before he had heard the screeching sound of rending metal, he'd felt his ribs explode from the impact with the console, and then darkness had wrapped him up, blocking everything.

The doomed shuttle had hit rocks and trees, an ugly gash ripping through the hull as easily as through paper. The little craft had spiralled down through thick vegetation, spewing out some of its life forms as it fell, finally stopping as a large tree impaled it.

It had remained silent now for a few moments, but slowly, life was returning to its remaining occupants. Goff had faired best of all, having been seated in the co-pilot's seat. He shook his head to clear it, and looked around in amazement at the cabin. Only emergency lighting was working and in the pale glow, he could only count five heads, including his own. 

A soft moan beside him let him know that Commander Tucker at least, had survived. Goff roughly pulled the man back in his seat, causing him to gasp as his broken ribs protested. One side of Trip's face was completely masked in blood and quickly-forming bruises, and more blood stained his uniform further down as Goff noticed a ragged piece of metal jutting out from the human's thigh.

Trip's eyes flickered open, only for him to screw them shut again as his injuries introduced themselves.

"Not one of my better landin's."

Goff had managed, in the mayhem of the pod's dying trajectory, not only to retain his seat, but also his weapon. He looked at the other occupants picking themselves off the deck. Only two of his original eight fellow prisoners were still in the shuttle. The others who had got off Enterprise had been thrown out of the craft, but he wasn't sufficiently concerned to go looking for them in hostile terrain. He hadn't considered them as friends, anyway, but regretted that their absence cut down his safety in numbers. The human on the floor lay as still as death and he promptly forgot about him. Time to move on.

Grabbing the pilot's seat, he spun the human towards him, eliciting a cry of agony from Trip as the jagged metal was ripped from his flesh. Blood poured from the wound, and Goff knew his hostage would be useless to him if he were dead. Searching for something to use as a tourniquet, he remembered the belt of his drab uniform. It had been his good fortune that Zena had kitted its crew and prisoners in the same dreary garb, otherwise their subterfuge on Enterprise would have ended a lot sooner. 

Tying the belt tightly around the human's thigh above the bleeding point, he ignored the groan from the engineer's lips. The man's face was pale and a fine line of sweat beaded his top lip in spite of the chill from the broken port. Having finished his first aid, Goff tucked his 'ministering angel' persona safely out of sight and nudged Trip with his pistol.

"On your feet. It's time we made a move."

Trip struggled to clear his head, and stole a glance at Barr's still form.

"I don't think I can walk. Why don't we rest for a bit? You could send the other two out to look for your missing people."

Goff sneered. "What sort of fool do you think I am? Wait here, and oh look, here comes your captain to the rescue! You have two choices: you either get on your feet and move out, or I shoot you here and now. You don't look like a quitter to me, but it's your choice. Me, I'd choose to move, after all, the odds just went up in your favour. There's only three of us now. Who knows, you might even get away."

Trip's head was spinning from concussion and blood loss, but he wasn't through with life just yet, so he struggled painfully to his feet. He reasoned with himself that the more he slowed them down, the quicker the search party would find them.

He motioned to Ensign Barr, lying in a crumpled heap.

"Leave him, I've no time for dragging dead weights with us. Now get moving and quit stalling!" Goff encouraged Trip to move forwards with a far from gentle push in the back.

Trip wasn't sure how long it would be before he was a dead weight, too. His chest was on fire from his fractured ribs, his leg hurt abominably, and he could only see through one eye, the other being closed with congealed blood.

He made himself struggle out through the hatch, limping heavily as he placed weight on his injured right leg.

'Come on, Cap'n, now would be a good time for the cavalry to come tootin' over the hill!'

^*^*^*^*^*^

System repairs on Enterprise were finally completed, and as soon as planetary conditions allowed, a rescue mission would be launched. The ion storm continued to rage beneath them, blocking all hope of getting a fix on Tucker or Barr, preventing the use of the transporter.

Jon had spoken quietly to Lt. Anna Hess, Trip's second in command, and her engineering team was working overtime to re-jig the second shuttle with enhanced inertial dampeners for when they attempted to land in the storm. Jon knew the entire engineering team had volunteered for the work, so popular was their Chief. 

He sometimes wondered whether his crew felt the same about him. He'd always tried to be a friend to his crew as well as their captain, but it wasn't easy to be as open as Trip was. Often, he would watch, unnoticed, as his chief engineer interacted with the crew, jollying them along during moments of tension, always knowing just when to let fly with a quip to lighten the mood. 

He knew, too, that Trip was becoming a bad influence on Malcolm, breaking through his stiff English reserve and finding a mischievous mind lurking underneath. Jon looked at his tactical officer, sitting impatiently at his post like a coiled spring, frustrated at each and every delay in getting the rescue mission started.

They were all keyed up, their concern for Trip almost palpable. Even T'Pol seemed quieter than usual, if that was possible. She'd purged the glitches out of the shuttle's programme in record time and had readied herself to lead the away team at a moment's notice. Seemingly deep in thought, she'd said precious little since resuming her post on the bridge.

The intercom startled Jon from his ruminations.

"Hess to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"The 'pod's as ready as we can make it, sir. It'll still be a bumpy ride, but hopefully it won't lose power. If the commander had been here, he would probably have done a better job, but…"

"I know you've done your best, Lieutenant. I'll be sure to tell Commander Tucker that on his return. Archer out."

He turned to see T'Pol and Malcolm on their feet, looks of expectancy on their faces. 

He nodded. "Ok, watch your backs down there, and good luck. I know you're going to be out of comm. range during the storm, but check in as soon as you can."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Trip Tucker had never thought of himself as a quitter, but he was the closest he'd ever been to changing his mind. His head was pounding, his ribs stabbed with every movement, his leg was a sea of agony, and with every faltering step he grew dizzier and dizzier. Several times in the last few minutes, he'd staggered against the bole of a tree, only to be encouraged onwards by one of the Zenalese behind him.

Now, he found himself on his knees without recalling how he got there. His body could take no more. They'd been trudging through dense vegetation for over an hour without rest or water, and the elements were unkind to say the least. The wind drove incessant rain into their faces, in spite of the overhead foliage, and Trip thought, sardonically, that at least it had washed the blood out of his eyes.

But now, as he was again jabbed with the business end of a pistol to propel him forward, he shook his exhausted head.

"I'm sorry, fellas, but ya keep me goin' an' your gonna have a dead man here. I gotta rest, an' if ya don't like it, you can just shoot me an' put me outta my misery."

He eased his weary back against the trunk of a tree, taking the weight off his injured leg. Goff crouched in front of him, assessing the human's condition.

"Ok, Commander, you can have five minutes, and then we move again."

"Where are we goin', anyway? You know somebody around here?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. This planet trades with Zena, and we crashed reasonably close to a city I'm familiar with. For a price, they'll trade almost anything. I'm hopeful that they'll have transport to take me to pastures new."

"So your plannin' on takin' a journey…no surprise, there, but where do I fit in with your plans?" Trip was trying to keep up with the conversation, but his head was fuzzy.

"Like I said," Goff seemed to sneer, "there'll be a price for my ticket off-world, and you're it. They trade in people, too. You'll be the first human they'll have seen, so I'm going to hold out for a good price."

Trip gasped at the man's audacity. "You're immoral, ya know that? Life's just cheap, a throw-away commodity to you, isn't it?" If he'd had enough strength, he'd have punched at the sneering face in front of him.

"Not at all, Commander. Like I said, I won't trade you for anything less than three tickets out of our solar system. And once I'm safely out of here, I don't care if your captain does find you. It'll be up to him, then, to trade to get you back."

Trip chewed his lip as he contemplated the bleakness of his immediate future. He had no doubt that the captain would do everything he could to find him, but if the ship had been badly damaged, how far behind might they be?

Goff tapped him on the shoulder. "Time's up, get moving."

Trip struggled painfully to his feet, more than a bit wobbly. He wondered, giddily, how much he'd be worth in a trade if they had to walk much further. His leg had started to bleed again and his hand came away stickily red as he worked at the makeshift tourniquet. A vaguely remembered childhood story of children trying to lay trails out of a wood came to him, and he carefully placed his bloodied hand against the tree he'd been leaning on. He might still manage to leave a trail, he reckoned, if he didn't bleed to death, first.

TBC


	8. chapter eight

A/N     a bit of a filler-inner…sorry it's a short one, but more action very soon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The planet beneath them now had a name: Kendal Prime, found on the Vulcan astrochart. The rescue team comprised of T'Pol, Malcolm and three heavily armed security men.

Lieutenant Hess and her team had done a good job on Shuttlepod Two's stabilisers, and although the storm continued to rage, their descent through it was turbulent but uneventful.

Malcolm landed the craft in a clearing, not far from the other heavily damaged pod. They took in its battered appearance with dismay, and approached cautiously. As they rounded towards the open hatch, they were startled to see a dazed and bloodied Ensign Barr sitting inside, clutching his head.

"Ensign, can you tell us where Commander Tucker is?" T'Pol asked, not unkindly, as she could clearly see that he was injured and concussed.

He looked at her with eyes that were struggling to focus, but no words came. T'Pol rationalised that the ensign had probably been unconscious for some time, and would be unable to assist them in their search.

They entered the 'pod, hoping to find clues. Malcolm moved to the pilot's seat and made to sit down. He recoiled when he saw the bloodstained jagged metal sticking out from the helm.

"I would guess, from the amount of blood on the seat and floor, that Commander Tucker was cut very badly by this…whatever it is." Malcolm couldn't quite figure what part of the console the metal belonged to, but it was hardly of any importance right now.

T'Pol scanned the blood and confirmed Malcolm's fears.

"It is indeed the commander's blood, and there would appear to be a great deal of it. We should attempt to find him as soon as possible, before his blood loss becomes life-threatening."

Malcolm couldn't agree more, but didn't even know where to begin looking. "Are you picking up his biosigns?"

"Yes, they are faint, but present. However, more strongly and of more practical use, is the DNA spread out before us. Commander Tucker has left us a trail of blood to follow, and it would seem churlish to refuse such a dramatic gesture."

They left a crewman behind with the injured ensign and set off into the thick vegetation. The going was difficult as the driving rain managed to penetrate the canopy of the trees, making every footstep treacherous with so many leaves about. Their uniforms clung limply to their bodies, and they wiped at their eyes in an attempt to improve visibility. They had to rely on the ship's powerful torches for light, as darkness had descended.

T'Pol constantly assessed their progress by consulting the luminescent digital reading on the scanner in her hand. From time to time she would adjust their heading, and in spite of the conditions they were struggling through, but probably because those they were pursuing were slower, they were making good progress. After about thirty minutes, T'Pol called them to a halt. Malcolm looked at her, questioningly.

"They stopped here for a short time, judging by the amount of the commander's blood. My readings indicate that it was quite recently, too."

Malcolm flashed his torch around in a 360° arc, half-expecting to see Goff or one of his cronies behind every tree. What he saw, instead, was a bloody handprint glistening from the bole of the tree behind him. The blood was still wet, but as the tree was moist from the rain, it wasn't an accurate time interval indicator.

"How close do you think we are to them, Sub-Commander?"

"Commander Tucker's biosigns are getting stronger, but I am also picking up a great many life signs, now. I believe we are approaching a town. If we do not reach the commander before then, our rescue will be all the more difficult."

^*^*^*^*^*^

"You say his species is Human? I've never heard of them, and he is badly injured. Of what tradeable value would he be in his present state? You ask too much, my friend."

Exer, a native of the planet, looked at the barely conscious figure lying on the floor. He knelt down to examine the man more closely, noting that humans weren't all that different to Kendals in appearance. Had the man been in better condition, he would have been worth quite a bit. Through the bruises he appeared to be handsome, and there were many sects that would barter for a good-looking male slave.

Goff spoke again, encouragingly. "Get your women to clean him up and make him more presentable before you reject him completely. Remember, he's an engineer from a warp-capable space ship. He'd have valuable information you could get from him, not to mention the technology you'll be able to harvest from the crashed shuttlepod. And some time soon, his ship will be here looking for him, so you'll be able to trade him back for even more data. All things considered, I don't think I'm asking too much at all, I think you've got a real bargain here. Come on, Exer, it's not like you to pass up on a good deal."

Exer listened to all that Goff was saying, the trader in him acknowledging that this human, even in his present state, was a pawn that he could richly exploit. He clicked his fingers and indicated to the two men awaiting his orders to take the human away. With little effort they lifted him by his arms, his head lolling forwards as they moved out of the room. Goff breathed again, and placed his arm around Exer's shoulder.

"I know you'll thank me for this, my friend. Now, let's go and discuss where I'm going to live out the rest of my days."

TBC


	9. chapter nine

A/N     Ok, it's more than time we got back to Trip, and he's in poor shape…

CHAPTER NINE

The rescue party had arrived at the edge of town and had stopped to correlate the readings from T'Pol's scanner. They were all grubby from their travels, but determination to continue shone from every face. Trip's biosigns had been pinpointed, and they had to contain their desire to launch into an immediate offensive move.

T'Pol had been scanning the town, assessing the people and their technology. The buildings were of an efficient structure and those people whom she'd observed seemed well presented, but she hadn't detected much in the way of advanced technology.

"Lieutenant, I believe this to be a pre-warp society. In effecting our rescue, we must be careful not to contaminate these people with information they are not ready for."

Malcolm gave her a look of exasperation, which illogically made her think of the man they were here to find.

"Sub-Commander, I'm fairly certain that even a pre-warp society has the means to make a man talk against his wishes. If they want warp information, they'll get it 'in spades' if they manage to loosen Commander Tucker's tongue."

T'Pol wondered, not for the first time, at the colourful idioms humans liked to pepper their speech with. She failed to see how loosening Commander Tucker's tongue would accomplish anything other than making speech more difficult.

They were waiting quietly in the shadow of a large building, watching as Goff, a fellow Zenalese and a third man climbed into a land vehicle and moved away. T'Pol consulted her scanner again and indicated its findings to Malcolm.

"Commander Tucker's life signs are coming from that building. There are still many people inside, but we don't know how many of them are guarding him."

Malcolm thought it was about time he earned his title of Tactical Officer.  "I would suggest we split up and approach from both front and rear. Set your weapons to 'stun', and be careful where you aim. It wouldn't do for us to be the ones to hit the commander."

^*^*^*^*^*^

Trip became aware that he was lying on something soft and warm, and that his face was being gently bathed. He was reluctant to allow himself to fully awaken, as it would be a long time before he forgot how much pain he'd been in. Still, the fact remained that soft hands were ministering to him, and if he wasn't mistaken, had he just heard feminine **giggles**?

His eyes shot open, only for him to screw them shut again as his senses went into overload.

'_Ah, yes, there's the pain again, my constant companion since the crash.'_

He lay as still as he could, forcing his breathing to slow and calm down, recalling another time when he'd been injured and T'Pol had tried to help him by talking softly and slowly to him. He wished she was here now, he could certainly do with a friendly face to look at, even if it was an unsmiling Vulcan one.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes again to look up into four concerned faces. They were all young, female, pretty and alien, and for a moment he thought he'd died and gone to Heaven. Only the pain made him reason that that was unlikely. He forced his tongue to co-operate and addressed his nursemaids.

"Hi. Can you tell me where I am?"

His voice startled even him, so weak and hoarse was it from loss of blood. The women jumped slightly at the sound, then crowded around him again, touching his face, hands, and even his thighs.

"Ah! Don't do that, please," he gasped, looking down at his injured leg, only then discovering that he was dressed only in his blue skivvies. Not normally given to shyness, he felt nonetheless abashed at having been undressed by persons unknown.

"Uh, ladies, I'd appreciate gettin' my clothes back, if it's not too much trouble."

The four girls giggled some more, then rose in unison to step away from him. He hoped they were going to get his clothes, but when two large males of the same species stepped towards the bed he was lying on, his already dry mouth went even drier.

'_This can't be good! I'd just as soon have the gigglers back.'_

One of the men stepped level with his thigh whilst the other stood at the head of the bed. When they spoke, Trip was surprised to discover that he could understand them.

"You hold information that we want, human. It is in your best interest that you give us that information voluntarily, for we will get it, one way or another."

Trip tried to rise from the bed, but was horrified at the weakness of his body and of the all-consuming pain that every movement produced.

"What information d'ya think I can give ya? An' where's Goff?"

"That one has traded you, so you can forget about him. It's unlikely that you'll see him again. As to what we want from you, you are from a warp-engined space vessel. You will tell us everything you know about this technology."

"Don't think so," Trip muttered as quietly as he could, needing to reassure himself with the words, but not wanting to provoke a reaction from the two men.

Whether they did, in fact, hear him, or simply guessed at his reluctance to co-operate, the man standing level with his thigh suddenly pressed down on it, wrenching an agonised groan from Trip. His head reeled at the fresh assault and his breathing quickened to short gasps.

"N-no, don't," he managed, angry with himself for the pitiful pleading, but he didn't know how much of this he could stand before he was telling them his very shoe size, and what his favourite breakfast cereal was.

The sneering alien produced a small stick-like device and pointed it at the human's thigh. As he pressed a switch, an electrical charge hit Trip with mind-numbing agony. His body jerked and his leg felt as if it had exploded, and this time he couldn't contain the scream. The alien fired again and Trip's tortured lungs cried out for air that wouldn't come. He felt his grip on consciousness slipping away and welcomed the darkness as a respite from this punishment.

TBC


	10. chapter ten

CHAPTER TEN

Goff and Exer had returned from discussing the payment for the human. According to the expression on Goff's face, he wasn't totally happy with his side of the deal.

"He's worth far more than one lousy ticked on that bucket of scrap. It's not even space-worthy. If you think I'm going to trust my life on something like that, you can think again. And I'm certainly not handing over the human for anything less than a berth on a half-decent trading ship. Ok, so we'll forget about the other two tickets; I was getting a bit tired of them, anyway, but you've got to have something leaving soon, so I'll just go get my merchandise while you come up with the goods."

They stepped from the land vehicle, arguing heatedly and unsuspecting of an ambush. Malcolm and crewman Murphy stepped up behind them and pressed their phasers into their necks.

"Please don't make any sudden moves**,** **gentlemen, as I'm just longing for an excuse to fire!" Malcolm's polite voice seemed incongruous with the words. The two men took his advice and cautiously raised their arms above their heads.**

"Very good! You must get satellite TV from earth, all those old westerns. Now, if you don't mind, we'll pay a little visit with Commander Tucker. Move!"

The men were encouraged forwards into the building by the pressure of the Starfleet pistols on their necks, and Malcolm worried that it was all going much too smoothly. He wondered where the Sub-Commander and crewman Johnson had got to as he ushered his prisoners along. 

A door ahead of them opened and two Kendali men stepped from the room containing the unconscious engineer.

"Ambush! Get the human out of there," Exer shouted at them, catching Malcolm unprepared. He fired and hit one of the Kendalies, but the other leapt back inside and slammed the door behind him. Malcolm swore under his breath as he contemplated their next move. A noise from behind mad him whirl round, and he sighed in relief as he saw T'Pol and Johnson joining them.

"I see you have detained Goff, Lieutenant. Am I to assume that Commander Tucker is still missing?"

"Give us a chance, Sub-Commander. We've only just got here. I think the commander's in that room up ahead, with at least one alien who may or may not be armed." He turned to glare at Exer. "Is there another entrance to that room?"

Exer laughed, a humourless snort of scorn. "You don't really expect me to tell you, do you?"

Malcolm thought back to what Exer had yelled. '_Get the human out of there.'_

That had to mean that there was another door. He couldn't afford to lug around their excess baggage, so he fired on Goff and Exer without as much as a warning, stepping casually over them as they fell. He wasn't even sure if his weapon had been set on 'stun', but if he was honest with himself, he didn't care.

"Sub-Commander, you and Johnson should attempt to locate the other access to that room. The man inside has already see Murphy and myself, so we'll form the frontal attack. He mightn't think there are four of us, so hopefully he won't be expecting a rear assault. If we allow him to get away with the commander, we mightn't get as good a chance again."

"Agreed, Lieutenant. We will look for some external means of access."

T'Pol and Johnson moved off, leaving the others to edge closer to the door.

Inside the room, the four servant girls had moved back to Trip's still form when the two men had made to leave. They had set about wiping the blood from his leg, but he made no sound, even when they applied fresh bandages.

Kree, the Kendali, pushed them aside as he made to drag the man off the bed, but the sound of the door opening from the corridor made him crouch down behind his human shield. 

"Don't come any closer, or I'll kill him," he yelled.

Malcolm held his hand up to halt Murphy in his steps. He had to get the man to talk in an attempt to fill some time and allow T'Pol to reach them. He looked at the device that Kree held against Trip's unconscious body and realised it must be some form of pain device, rather than a firing weapon.

"Alright, we'll stay here, but if you make any attempt to leave with my friend, I'll be forced to fire on you."

Kree sneered. "Fool! I have the upper hand. If I want to leave, I simply drag this human along as my shield. He's already very weak, so you really don't want to force my hand. Drop your weapons, now!"

Malcolm could taste the bitterness of defeat as he slowly signalled to Murphy, and they both lowered their weapons to the floor. As he glanced at the alien, hope surged once more. T'Pol was stepping as silently as a wraith, through an opened doorway. She didn't waste any time trying out nerve pinches, but fired on the alien from where she stood. The man slumped to the floor as the four startled servant girls shrieked in terror.

"It's alright, we won't harm you," Malcolm tried to soothe them. They looked at him with eyes like saucers, but his soft words seemed to calm them, and their screams subsided. Almost like pre-programmed automatons, they moved towards Trip again, smoothing his brow and caressing his arms in an attempt to revive him.

T'Pol's eyebrow went into overdrive as she observed the scene. It never ceased to amaze her that where alien females were put into the same situation as the chief engineer, they were drawn together in a most interesting scenario.

Malcolm grinned briefly at the thought of the mileage he was going to get out of this, what with Trip in his blues, and with **four** females this time. But his moment of humour was fleeting as he recalled their position. Being inside an enemy city with a severely injured man to slow down their escape wasn't exactly ideal.

T'Pol produced the med kit and was preparing a hypospray that Phlox had thoughtfully included. She injected the engineer's neck and watched with concern for the first signs of his recovery. She was troubled by the feelings she was experiencing when looking at her weakened colleague. 

'_Vulcans should be above the emotion of anger' she mutely chided herself, but as she took in Trip's injuries and examined the torture device that Kree had dropped, she fought to control the baser desire for revenge._

A soft moan from the man on the bed brought her back to reason, and she scanned his body for confirmation that he was waking. 

Malcolm posted Murphy as guard at the door into the corridor, and Johnson took up position at the other. Malcolm crossed to stand beside T'Pol as they watched Trip's ashen face change from expressionless to pain-wracked.

"Commander, open your eyes." T'Pol bent low over him, speaking softly and clearly.

Trip heard his name being called, but he remembered the last time he'd opened his eyes and wasn't in any hurry to resume the question and answer session.

"Trip, we've got to get out of here, so why don't you open your eyes some time soon?" Malcolm shook him gently by the shoulder, anxious to revive him, but reluctant to cause him any more pain.

Trip wondered at the use of his nickname. Nobody on this planet knew it, and it certainly hadn't sounded like Goff, who might just have known how he was familiarly addressed. He decided to risk responding, and with a deep groan, opened unfocussed eyes, trying not to gasp as his injuries called out to him. Relief washed over him as he looked up into the faces of T'Pol and Malcolm.

"What took ya so long?" he asked, plaintively.

"Your friends left us with a few setbacks on Enterprise. We only just got here in time," Malcolm explained. "If you don't mind my saying so, Commander, you look terrible."

"That's ok, 'cause I feel terrible, too," Trip whispered, his eyes drooping again.

"Lieutenant, there's activity out in the corridor," Murphy called from the doorway. Malcolm took a hard-backed chair over and propped it against the now-closed door, under the handle.

"That might slow them down a bit. Commander, can you walk?"

Trip forced his eyes open and attempted a half-hearted laugh. "Sure thing, just point me in the right direction."

He tried, unsuccessfully, to stand, and T'Pol signalled for Johnson to assist her. They pulled Trip onto his feet, supporting his weight across their shoulders. He grimaced as everything protested, but remained conscious.

"I'm not gonna be much help to ya. You shouldn't have risked comin' for me, but I'm real glad that ya did." He gazed dreamily at T'Pol's right ear, a sudden urge to kiss it entering his befuddled brain. Manfully, he resisted, as he thought her reaction would very likely be to deposit him painfully on his ass.

They made their way through the rear door and accessed the fire escape, with Malcolm in the lead and Murphy bringing up the rear. Trip did his best to help, but even the slightest movement evoked a soft moan. As they safely emerged from the building, they blended into the shadows.

"Lieutenant, I believe we will need some form of transport. Commander Tucker is too weak to survive the return journey to the shuttle on foot," T'Pol put into words what they'd all been thinking.

"Who ya callin'weak?" Trip tried to instil belligerence into his question, but the evidence was stacked against him. If either T'Pol or Johnson had let go his arm, he'd have collapsed.

Malcolm nodded and peered out into the street. Across from their position was an open vehicle of some sort. He wasn't familiar with its construction, but as it had been left unattended, he reasoned that it would be rude to refuse the unwritten invitation to 'borrow' it.

He and Murphy flitted from shadow to shadow until they had reached the craft. Murphy kept watch as the lieutenant stepped carefully into it. After a moment, Malcolm found a button on the console which fired the ignition. He was appalled at the din it created, but now that it was running, speed was of the essence. T'Pol and Johnson hurried over, settling Trip as comfortably as possible before clambering in beside him. Murphy took a last look around before jumping on board. Malcolm listened, half-expecting to hear cries of "Stop, thief", but there were none.

"Hang on, everybody, this could be a rough ride," he shouted above the engine.

The craft rose, unexpectedly, into the air, skimming the rooftops, blasting its occupants with wind and rain.

"Bad weather for a convertible," Trip gasped from the rear seat.

"Picky, picky, Commander," Malcolm yelled back. "At least we're making progress. Now, if we can just out-distance that craft that's behind us…"

T'Pol slewed round in her seat to observe what Malcolm had already seen: a similar craft had taken off a few moments after them. She reached for her communicator, intending to contact Enterprise.

TBC


	11. chapter eleven

A/N     The rescue mission comes unstuck…

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Captain, the ion storm seems to abating slightly," Hoshi called from the science station. There hadn't been any point in her manning communications, as nothing had got through to them since they'd commenced orbit around Kendal Prime.

Jon stepped across to join her, changing places to look into the viewer. Hoshi assessed his body language with concern. He'd barely left the bridge since Commander Tucker's enforced departure, and certainly not since the launch of the rescue mission. He glanced up, catching her watching him, and gave a tired grin.

"About time our luck changed. Try raising the away team."

"Aye, sir," Hoshi responded, gliding gracefully to her usual post. "Enterprise to Sub-Commander T'Pol, Lieutenant Reed, come in please…"

Because of her sharp hearing, she was the first to detect the scratchy response. At first it was only a slight modulation in the static, but as she slid control levers and refined the signal, everyone on the bridge could hear T'Pol's answer.

"T'Pol to Enterprise, go ahead."

Jon joined in the conversation. "T'Pol, have you found Trip?"

"Affirmative, Captain, however we are endeavouring to elude pursuit. Is the transporter an option?"

"Not yet, there's still too much static to lock on safely. What's your situation?"

"We are in a hover vehicle, but our pursuers are gaining on us. We will have to take evasive action and find a place of concealment. Shuttlepod One is severely damaged, but the rescue pod is serviceable. When the situation allows, we will return to Enterprise."

"Understood. How's Trip?"

T'Pol glanced briefly at the semi-conscious figure beside her, judging her reply.

"Advise Dr Phlox to expect the commander as his patient on our return."

Jon sighed; T'Pol's cryptic reply did nothing to assuage his anxieties. A short answer would either have reassured him, or…

A sharp burst of static interrupted his thoughts.

"T'Pol, what was that?" he yelled.

"We are under attack…Lieutenant Reed, try to remember that we have no roof over our heads."

The bridge crew raised collective eyebrows as they listened in to the sounds of battle through the open comm. T'Pol came back.

"Captain, we will have to land and attempt our return tomorrow. Might I suggest that you maintain communication silence and we will contact you when it is safe to do so?"

"Very well, Sub-Commander, keep your heads up! We'll keep the lamp lit."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose at the obscure statement, but she had little time to ponder its meaning, as a lucky shot from the pursuing vehicle caused their hovercraft to yaw alarmingly.

"Lieutenant, they are gaining on us. Can you go any faster?"

"I'm sorry, Sub-Commander, but I'm flying an unfamiliar craft over unfamiliar terrain. I'm going as fast as I think prudent."

"Prudence will not prevent us from being brought down if they catch us. I suggest you land as soon as possible. Our chances of survival on foot are greater than if we are shot out of the sky."

Malcolm fought to regain some form of helm control, and just as he'd given himself a metaphorical backslap for a degree of success, another shot found its mark.

"I've lost the helm. Hang onto anything you can…we're going down!"

He gripped the steering device as if his very life depended upon it, and saw the two crewmen scrambling to grab hold of fastened objects. He couldn't see over his shoulder, but had to hope that T'Pol and Trip would survive the crash-landing.

T'Pol watched in concern at their rapidly decaying altitude and instinctively threw herself across the engineer's slumped body.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Malcolm was the first to regain consciousness and he pushed himself painfully into an upright position from where the crash had flung him. It was by now almost pitch black and it took a few moments for his eyesight to compensate. When it had, he looked around at his crewmates. Johnson and Murphy lay in a tangle of limbs and broken branches.

"Hey, can you hear me?" he asked them both, putting a hand to his forehead to stem a sudden feeling of dizziness. 

Both crewmen slowly responded, untangling themselves and moaning softly.

"Aye, sir, I'm awake now," Johnson replied. 

Murphy scrambled into a sitting position, holding his head in his hands. Malcolm tried to figure out what way the craft was lying, in order to know in what direction to look for the two who hadn't yet been accounted for: T'Pol and Trip. A soft groan coming from ahead of him alerted him to the fact that one or both of them was regaining consciousness.

"Malcolm?"

"Commander! Are you hurt?"

"Somethin' on my chest…can hardly breathe…get it off!"

Malcolm carefully made his way towards Trip's voice, stepping over Johnson and Murphy. He let out a startled exclamation when he stumbled over a pair of legs, and reaching down to trace their outline, he followed the shape until his hands recognised the shapely form of the Sub-Commander. She was lying right across Trip's chest, out cold.

"It's the Sub-Commander, sit. I don't want to move her without knowing her injuries. Can you ease out from under her?"

"Nah, my ribs…feel as if they're about…ready to pack in…an' my leg's gone to sleep." He turned his attention to the woman lying on top of him. "Hey T'Pol…wakey, wakey."

He tapped her cheek lightly with his free hand, his left arm being pinned by T'Pol's weight.

It took several minutes, minutes of agony for Trip, and concern for T'Pol from everyone before she started to come round. It wasn't her normal graceful transition from sleep to wakefulness, but instead was a haze-filled confusion. She became dimly aware that she was lying on something firm but warm, and that her name was being called. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and focussed her mind to ignore a dull headache.

"T'Pol, unexpected as this is…an' it's real nice…but it's kinda difficult…to breathe with broken ribs…when somebody's lyin' on your chest." 

Trip's voice was husky with the effort of shifting air through his tortured lungs. He'd never been as glad to see anyone waken up in his entire life. T'Pol raised herself onto one shaky hand, easing the pressure on Trip's chest.

"Ah…thanks. You ok?"

She touched her head with her free hand, as if mere physical contact could negate the headache. 

"Thank you, Commander, I have a mild concussion but am otherwise uninjured. Lieutenant Reed, what is our status?" If she was embarrassed by her proximity to Trip, she hid it well.

"As far as I can make out in the darkness, we've landed in a forest, hopefully the same one we traipsed through today, or was that yesterday? We've been remarkably lucky with minor injuries, but the hovercraft's had it. So far, there's been no sign of our pursuers, but I think it's too optimistic to imagine that they've given up."

T'Pol was now seated beside Trip and could hear his laboured breathing.

"Commander, what is your personal status?"

"Don't worry about me…I'll be ready for…the next round. Oh, an' by the way, Malcolm…this is my idea of…a good rescue."

T'Pol assessed his condition as she listened to his statement coming in short bursts. In spite of his pain, he was still ready with a sarcastic comment. She put her hand onto his injured leg to check the bandage and found that it had come lose. Her hand came away sticky with what she knew would be his blood. The wound was haemorrhaging again.

"Lieutenant, we need to get out of this craft and find some shelter. Crewmen, assist the Commander."

"I can manage, T'Pol." Trip made to rise from the seat, only to fall back, beaten and exhausted by the smallest of movements. "Ok, maybe not today…but I'm sure I'll be better, tomorrow."

He tried his best to stifle the moans as Murphy and Johnson gently raised him onto his good foot and supported him around the waist. T'Pol watched in the gloom as they made their slow, painful way out of the downed craft, then caught up with Malcolm.

"I am concerned about Commander Tucker. His breathing is becoming laboured and he has lost a great deal of blood from his thigh wound. We need to get him back to the ship sooner, rather than later."

"I know, Sub-Commander, but what can we do? He's not fit to move, really, and the captain can't use the transporter yet."

"We should split up and one of us make our way to the shuttle. It can be brought to the commander."

"'Mohammed and the mountain', I like it. Ok, which one of us should go?"

"You are the commander's friend; you should stay with him and keep him calm. I will take crewman Murphy as back-up, and will contact crewman Briggs and Ensign Barr to expect our arrival."

"Ok, but be careful. I don't want to have to launch another rescue party."

T'Pol gave him a look of scorn, even though he couldn't see it in the dark. "I will endeavour to do so, Lieutenant. And you also must exercise caution. You will be less able to effect an escape if you are apprehended."

TBC


	12. chapter twelve and epilogue

A/N     Last chapter and epilogue coming up. Hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. If so, please review, and many thanks to all who have already done so. Writers live for reviews, even those with constructive criticism.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Trip gasped in agony as the aliens repeatedly zapped him with their pain sticks, alternating that with pressing on his injured leg.

"Give us the information and we will stop."

"I can't give ya anythin'. You've gotta understand, I swore I'd never tell anyone."

"Then you will die, pointlessly and painfully." 

With that, the torture continued until his head swam with pain. He could dimly hear them calling his name and he ignored it, refusing to allow them to use psychology on him.

"Commander…come on, sir, waken up! Trip, for pity's sake, open your eyes."

Trip recognised the clipped English vowels and briefly wondered when Malcolm had been captured. Reluctantly, he opened heavy eyes and felt the soft rain hitting his face.

"Wassup?"

"You were dreaming, Commander, and shouting out. We've managed to avoid detection thus far, but if you keep on yelling, our luck won't last."

Malcolm looked at Trip with concern etched onto his face. The engineer was dressed only in his blue skivvies, and like them all, was drenched to the skin. However, none of the others had to contend with serious blood loss and broken ribs. His teeth chattered and he shuddered from the cold. His blue eyes, now that Malcolm could see them, were bright with fever, and Malcolm touched the commander's forehead.

"You're burning up, Trip."

"N-not from where I'm sittin'…c-cold."

A sudden fit of coughing wracked his body and Malcolm watched in dismay as bright red blood appeared at the corner of Trip's mouth.

"That's it. I'm going to get you some help. Not everyone on this God-forsaken planet can be hostile."

Trip shook his head, vehemently. "N-no way, Malcolm. I'll take my c-chances, just      s-stay outta there." A sudden realisation hit him. "Where's T'Pol?"

Malcolm squirmed a little before answering. "She left a few hours ago to make her way back to the shuttle. She's going to bring it here, since you were in no condition to go to it."

"An' you l-let her g-go, on her own?"

"Actually, Commander, she outranks me, and technically she's not alone: Crewman Murphy's with her, and as soon as they reach the shuttle, Briggs and Barr will be there, too."

Trip let it go, too weary to continue, and knowing only too well that they'd split up because of him. It frustrated him that he was so weak, such a burden to his friends. And now T'Pol was out there, susceptible to attack because he was once again a liability.

'_If I hadn't been so ready to show Goff around __Enterprise__, I wouldn't be in this mess, now. Gotta get more like Malcolm and T'Pol: suspect everybody!'_

He hadn't realised he was mumbling aloud until Malcolm gave him a curious look.

"Sorry, Commander, were you speaking?"

"Huh?"

Johnson edged over beside the Armoury Officer. "He's losing it, Lieutenant, he's mumbling now."

Malcolm turned sharply on a hapless Johnson. "The Commander's injuries have led to him developing a fever. That's why he's **losing** it, as you put it. Stay with him while I have a quick scout around. And try to keep him quiet!"

"Aye, sir, and how exactly am I supposed to keep a senior officer quiet?"

"Use your initiative, crewman, just don't let either of you get caught. I won't be long."

^*^*^*^*^*^

T'Pol and Murphy had made good progress through the forest in spite of the near-stygian darkness. Their Starfleet issue torches had been lost in the hovercraft's crash. Murphy secretly harboured the feeling that the Vulcan science officer was a she-devil, anyway, so the fact that she seemed able to see in the dark only added conviction to his beliefs.

It took several hours of dodging branches and roots, but eventually they found themselves standing in front of the shuttle. T'Pol activated her communicator.

"Ensign Barr, this is Sub-Commander T'Pol, please open the hatch."

"Acknowledged, Sub-Commander."

The side panel opened, spilling out light and warmth into the night air. T'Pol and Murphy clambered aboard, as Briggs shut the hatch after them. Barr was feeling better, although pale and blood-smeared. Briggs had filled him in on developments since he'd taken his nap.

"So, Sub-Commander, did you manage to locate Commander Tucker?" he asked.

"We have retrieved the commander, but experienced some difficulties in our escape. We had to split up, and as you are in no condition to fly, I will pilot the shuttle to where the others will be waiting. But first I must apprise the captain of developments."

Ensign Barr moved out of the way to allow her to sit at the helm and contact the ship.

Hoshi's sharp hearing, and never-wavering attention picked up the hail through the static.

"Captain, we have contact again. It's the Sub-Commander."

Jon had been pacing the bridge like a man demented, worried for his missing crew, and feeling useless so far from them. At Hoshi's call he fairly sprinted back to his chair.

"T'Pol, what's happening down there? We're going out of our minds with worry."

T'Pol arched an elegant eyebrow. "That is an unnecessary over-reaction, Captain. I have returned to the shuttle and am about to rendezvous with Lieutenant Reed and the commander. If all goes unhindered, we should be returning to Enterprise in several hours. I will give you a detailed report on my return."

"Ok, it'll wait until then, but I've felt so helpless up here…what about Goff? Is there anything we can do about him?"

"I believe he was attempting to procure a ticket on a cargo vessel leaving Kendal Prime. He was using Commander Tucker as a means of payment."

"**Slavery! Ye gods, I thought we'd put that behind us centuries ago. So, do you think he got his ticket off?"**

"When I last saw him about 3 hours ago, he had been rendered unconscious by the lieutenant. Do you want me to track and detain him?"

"No, it's too dangerous, who knows how many allies he has down there. I guess we just have to walk away from this. I've already sent another message to Zena, informing them of his last known whereabouts. That's all we can do. Let's just concentrate on getting everyone home."

^*^*^*^*^*^

"Commander, please sir, you have to keep quiet," Johnson pleaded.

"Wassamatter?" Trip queried, much too loudly.

Johnson cringed at the unwelcome volume of the commander's voice. He'd heard the sounds of an approaching patrol, and if  Commander Tucker continued his mutterings, they'd be found without any difficulty.

He whispered in Trip's ear, "The enemy is very close, sir. I need you to be quiet or they'll find us."

"Bad guys? Here? Lemme at 'em, I'll blow their socks off."

Johnson stared in horror as Trip attempted to stand, an imaginary pistol in his outstretched hand. He had to do something, but the only thing he could think of was **unthinkable. The footsteps were almost upon them as he thought frantically of a way out of their predicament.**

"Oh for Heaven's sake, I hope I don't live to regret this!" He drew his phaser, checked the setting was on 'stun', and shot his chief Engineer squarely in the chest. Trip collapsed in an unceremonious heap.

"I am **so dead for that, but at least he's quiet," he reasoned with himself.**

He whirled round as steps approached behind him, and lowered his pistol in relief as Malcolm returned from his scouting party. Malcolm looked at Trip's still form, and crossed anxiously to check his pulse.

"What happened?"

Johnson held his finger to his mouth and indicated the searchers who were by now, very close. Malcolm brought his pistol up to get a bead on the figures, but suddenly recognised the distinctive sound of an Enterprise shuttle overhead. A blast from the shuttle's plasma cannon scorched the ground near the Kendalies, causing them to scatter in all directions. Those who inadvertently ran towards Malcolm and Johnson were felled by stun shots. T'Pol manoeuvred the 'pod into a gentle landing close to Malcolm's position. As the hatch opened, Briggs jumped out, running towards them.

"Hurry, sir, before they muster their attack again."

Johnson and Briggs hoisted Trip's unconscious body off the ground and clambered on board. Malcolm gave one last look around the inhospitable planet, and followed them in. As they settled the unconscious man gently onto a bench and covered him in a thermal blanket, Malcolm turned again to the unfortunate crewman.

"I believe you still owe me an answer, Mister Johnson."

Johnson gulped nervously before replying. "Well, sir, they were **so** close, and he kept babbling on, what with the fever, and you said to keep him quiet. 'Use your initiative' you said, so…I shot the commander…sir."

T'Pol's elegant eyebrow almost disappeared into her hairline. Malcolm sat open-mouthed as he took in what he was hearing. He finally got his mouth working again.

"Let me get this straight. You shot a senior officer, and you're trying to blame **me? When I said 'use your initiative', I didn't mean ****that."**

Johnson hung his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I guess I panicked. Does the commander have to know about this…or the captain? I suppose he'll wonder at the phaser burn on the commander's chest."

Malcolm began to relax and see the crewman's point of view.

"You haven't had a good look at the commander's present state of health or you wouldn't be worrying about one more bruise. But I'll have to explain it to the captain, and knowing him, he'll probably call it 'mitigating circumstances'. As for Commander Tucker, I think we'll just keep this between ourselves. What the commander doesn't know, won't hurt him."

EPILOGUE

 "Doc, come on, lemme outta here! I've been wired up to your infernal monitors for three days now. I tell ya, keepin' me here's doin' more harm than good to my recovery."

Phlox regarded his cantankerous patient with a benign smile. Over those said three days he'd watched the human's struggle against infection and injury, initially fearing for his patient's life. But, as always in the past, Commander Tucker had held on tenaciously to life, pulling through, with a little help from Phlox's less orthodox treatments. 

The fact that most of the crew had stopped by, frequently, had helped, too. The young engineer was one of the most popular crew members, and Phlox had had to restrict visiting at the start of his recovery, to allow the exhausted man some rest. But now, judging by his plaintive cries for freedom, the commander was well on the way to a full recovery.

"Commander, no matter how much you badger me, I refuse to release you yet. Your body is recovering more with each passing day, but you must remember that you had serious injuries as well as a fever. Whilst I enjoy our little spats each time you frequent my establishment, perhaps a distraction might help to occupy your time better than arguing with me."

Trip snorted. "Don't ya think I'm distracted enough? I just want ta get back to normal, lie in my own bed for a change. No offence, Doc, I really appreciate all ya did for me, again! It's just…"

"Doctor, perhaps I may be of some assistance," T'Pol interjected, serenely entering the fray as she silently entered Sickbay. Phlox beamed her a look of supreme gratitude, and Trip strained to see what was behind her.

"Hey T'Pol, whatcha got with ya?"

She stood aside to let him see two crewmen setting their unfinished chess game onto a moveable table.

"I wondered if we might resume our match, unless you think I would be taking an unfair advantage of you in your debilitated state, Commander."

T'Pol knew her opponent's weaknesses, and she had worded her statement deliberately. She saw the flash of fire in his eyes at the very idea of being thought of as under par.

Trip grinned. "Take as much advantage as ya want, Sub-Commander, 'cause debilitated or not, this boy's gonna whup your ass!"

END


End file.
